


Angry at all the things I can't change

by pinkpurpleblue



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Depression, Hurt No Comfort, I hate him and I'm glad he's dead in canon but this character study wouldn't leave me alone, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Little bit of romanticizing depression, Oneshot, Probably not as bad as tags suggest but I wanna be safe so, Romanticization of cigarette smoking, This is the only thing I will ever write about Billy, a bit dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpurpleblue/pseuds/pinkpurpleblue
Summary: He drives fast because he wants to. He blows past the speed limit signs and every pothole he hits sends a shock of adrenaline through his spine.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Angry at all the things I can't change

The anger has settled in him now, he feels it constantly, like it made a home in his lungs and his chest. It fades into the background like white noise and he doesn’t mind it. He grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his jaw clenches a little harder but he keeps going, keeps moving. There’s nothing else for him to do, so he climbs his way to the top of Hawkins High, which is so easy it’s insane. He downs whatever drinks they give him, takes a drag from different girls’ cigarettes and beats whoever doesn’t agree with him. It numbs the anger, the constant rage simmering under his skin retreats deeper, settles back into his lungs, and he breathes it out with the smoke. 

He drives fast because he wants to. He blows past the speed limit signs and every pothole he hits sends a shock of adrenaline through his spine. He screams over his music and presses harder on the gas pedal. He steadily climbs from 40 to 80 and the anger is replaced with buzzing, like he’s actually alive. He presses hard on the pedal, never letting his foot anything near the brake. His car is shaking with the force as he goes to 90, he doesn’t feel in control any more and he loves it. His heart is pounding with adrenaline and the anger is nowhere to be found. Instead it’s pure elation, he keeps imagining his car wrapped around a pole, a tree, anything. He’d be dead on impact and it’d be the biggest hit of adrenaline he’d ever feel. Going out in a literal blaze of glory. It’d be all him, nobody else to decide, the anger finally gone. It’d be the best high he’d ever have. He smiles and takes his hands off the wheel, spreading them out as far as he can reach. He’s posed for his death alone. His arms spread like Jesus hung up on the cross.

At that thought, the buzzing suddenly fades out from under his skin, an immediate void that caves his chest in. Memories of long-gone Sundays harass him. The way he choked on his bowtie every Easter, the way his mom used to hum along with the hymns, her laugh at the jokes the pastor would make. He slams his foot on the brake and slows down to 55, the moment gone. The anger is back, swelling in his lungs and flowing through his limbs to the rest of his body. He sucks in heavy breaths and enjoys the way his lungs burn from the effort. He pulls over and stumbles out of his car, dry heaving onto the asphalt. When he’s no longer gagging he stands up, gasping for breath. His eyes start to burn but he hits his fists against his thigh until the feeling goes away. He’s guaranteeing a bruise forming but it’s better than crying on the street like some kind of pussy so keeps hitting and hitting and he wishes that it was someone - anyone else that he was hitting.

He gets his wish a week later. He pulls up to the shithole of a house, the anger giving in to rage that settles itself just under his bones and he tries he tries so hard to hold it back, all he has to do it get Max and take her back to her mother and then pretend he’s anywhere else. The anger revs in him at her peeking out from that window with her new friends, like moving to Indiana, to Hawkins was a great idea. She’s settled in, she’s forgotten that no amount of screwing around with her friends erases the fact that she’s the one that fucked everything up. It’s not until that Harrington prick throws a decent punch that the anger stirs, it gathers in his lungs again. He just smiles, with every punch he takes the anger dilutes itself, mixing with adrenaline and the buzzing is back and it’s the best feeling he’s ever had. Harrington asked for a fight, and it stirs his anger again at how easy it is to beat the spoiled brat to a pulp. He hits and he hits and he can feel his knuckles bruising and he laughs. If he’s not careful he’ll kill him but it his blood is pumping and the buzzing is growing louder in his ears, the adrenaline flooding his veins. 

So he keeps going and he can’t stop, he won’t stop until Harrington regrets everything he’s ever done, every silver spoon he’s ever choked on. He’s not in control anymore and the elation he felt going 90 is back. But he’s not the one to slam on the break this time, instead the anger and the buzzing stills and he sways. His knuckles are screaming with pain and there’s ache in the places where Harrington managed to land a hit and it’s not enough to overpower the haziness flooding him. Instead there’s just fear as Max drives a goddamn nail bat in between his legs, and tells him to leave her and her friends alone like some kind of entitled princess. The anger settles back behind his ribs all that's left is the haziness from whatever they drugged him with and the good sense to nod. 

He stays away from her now, lets the anger out in other ways, through scarred knuckles and anything that makes him feel alive. She can have her friends and pathetic attachment to Hawkins. He works his way up to 90 miles per hour, a cigarette between his teeth and a way to die young around every corner. 


End file.
